


Bad Liar

by Captain Meow-Meow (Legolass)



Category: DBZ - Fandom, Dragonball, Dragonball Super, Dragonball Z
Genre: Action & Romance, Awesome Bulma Briefs, F/M, My First AO3 Post, My First Smut, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-10-31 05:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17843459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legolass/pseuds/Captain%20Meow-Meow
Summary: Vegeta is one of Frieza's top soldiers, Bulma owns a local repair shop on a space station with her parents, both of them want to seek revenge again the lizard tyrant who destroyed their planets. Earth is destroyed AU, possible smuttiness later on. :3





	1. Touch of Blue

CHAPTER ONE: A Touch of Blue

"Either you pay full price right now, or I'll find someone else," the voice came from a short, cerulean-haired woman dressed in bright orange worker's fatigues that were covered in a thick mixture of grease, oil, and paint, holding a large monkey-wrench in one hand and a fist full of rage in the other, "because I promise you, I have other buyers." 

She spoke with the confidence of someone three times her size, shaking her wrench with every word as if she were ready to strike the brutish toad-monster of a customer if he made any attempt to steal her property. This wasn't the first time he had witnessed her fiery nature and verbal spats with beings with power levels far greater than her own on this busy market-stop space station; but it was the first time he had actively sought her out. They always arrived here to pick up new assignments, a weekly task, and he knew where her shop was located. This morning he had waited, albeit impatiently, for her to take over the store front from the old man who he presumed was her father. 

Like many on this station, she was an alien, but closer to his own race than any that he had come across in all of his space travels. If it weren't for her unusual colouring, he could've been fooled that he wasn't one of the last of his own species. He blamed it on his prejudiced sexual appetite as to why she pervaded his thoughts and why the colour blue caused his heart to pound restlessly in his chest; and he had hoped to cure this pesky, passionate thought once and for all. In his hurry to ensure he didn't miss her working hours, he'd quickly come up with a plan of just waltzing over with a broken piece of equipment, demanding her attention, once she knew who he was, she’d envitably agree to follow him away and after a half hour of fucking her brains out, he could finally get some peace. He'd toyed with the idea of vaporizing her on the spot, but dismissed it as he wasn't sure if that would ease his suffering; he'd never been in this predicament before and it was as embarrassing as it was uncomfortable. She'd been his greatest distraction for the past few months and it was beginning to wear his collected demeanor thin. It also didn't help that his half-brained idiot of a companion continually nagged him over what was on his mind, and on several occasions he'd almost slipped up and said something incriminating.

He felt childish. He had been standing there for nearly an hour with a scouter, that he had purposefully broken as an excuse to seek her out, in a tight-alley way across the street of her store front. _This_ should be easier, he was a prince-- **IS** a prince--and she should be honored to be chosen by him for anything, let alone to share his bed, he growled out in his head. He grit his teeth as he forced his legs to move forward, but he stalled again. She was using a handheld console, holding it up for the customer to transfer his universal credits to her; she had gotten her way again--she was good at that--he shook the next thought away and grunted, dropping the scouter and stepping into the moving flow of foot traffic to walk back towards the docks. 

He cursed himself. He couldn't do it. One of the strongest beings in the universe, and he couldn't walk over and--how would he go about introducing himself, and then demand her to go with him? His thoughts were running wild as he picked up his pace. As much as he wanted it to be that easy, he knew she wouldn't grow moon-eyed and wanting at his stare and she certainly wouldn't follow him eagerly because he was a prince or his uniform that happened to signify him as one of Frieza's top soldiers. No, she would fight, and he didn't know how to win that fight without destroying her; not yet, at least.

He made a final glance over his shoulder, his black gaze scanning for any sign of blue, or of the dirty orange she wore, and despite his superior eyesight, he couldn't find her tiny figure amongst the throngs of other larger bodies. He curled his nails into his palm and pushed forward, he'd have to deal with these blue thoughts the only way he knew how, to pummel something into the ground.

\-----¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥------

Noting down her final sales for the day in her tablet, she stroked each key with a gleeful exuberance; today she had done very well. Although a few clients had tried to weasle their way out of paying for the equipment they had requested, she had intimidated them back into their purchases and even upsold a few pieces she had been meaning to get rid of. She smiled to herself, proud of her brillant mind for tackling more than what her father thought she could handle. After they had fled the destruction of her homeworld, Earth, with only her parents in tow, he had assumed she’d put her engineering work away. While the death of everything she had known had thrown her into a downward depressive spiral that first year, she needed to work with him, if only to keep herself sane. Now, several years later, she was managing her father's shop, giving him time to relax with her mother, handling her own on an alien space-station with creatures of all kinds as clientle, _and_ making profit. 

They would never live the life that they had on Earth, and it took a long time for her to adjust to that loss; but in terms of survival, they were living well. She and her father had spent many long nights studying every piece of alien technology they could get their hands on; and there was plenty to be found in and around the station--either tossed, scrapped, or given for penny credits. She had touched equipment that might have helped protect her world when the first intergalactic troops came through the atmosphere; and each time she came across something far more advanced than what they had on Earth, she would force the negative thoughts to the back of her mind, pushing herself to find a more suitable use of the materials that she could sell. It was a struggle every day, but days like this reassured her that she survived for a reason.

Sometimes that reason was to avenge her family and friends lost to her by the "great", galactic Emperor Frieza and his goonish thugs he let loose on worlds to eliminate the populations, tap the resources, and if, like with her own planet, it was deemed unworthy for his plans, it was simply destroyed for his enjoyment. Other times it was merely to keep a roof over her and her parents' heads, food on the table, and enough reason to keep going. Today, she had made enough money to purchase several pieces she had had her eye on, which would go towards making her “ultimate weapon”, as she liked to refer to it as there wasn't an official title yet; so, today was an avenger day.

She would stay up all night writing notes and doing calculations and possibly skirting out in the night to purchase any information she could get regarding Frieza, his top tiered men, and the systems they used to hold this entire, rotten infrastructure together. She wasn't sure what she could do with any intel she gathered; she hadn't made any significant connections that would say: Frieza is in Ship A at Time B with Person C so use weapon D alongside plan E to destroy the evil, lizard tyrant and save the universe; but she kept everything on the off chance it might help. She also continually asked about possible rebellious factions that could use her brilliant engineering mind, but no such faction existed--or if they did, they were far enough away that she would not be able to assist. 

"Bulma, dear." Her mother's feathery light voice came around the corner of the thick curtain that blocked her small, private room from the family gathering space. Her blonde head poked through and with an infectious smile brought out a tray with a couple of mismatched cups filled to the brim with piping hot tea. "I've brought you and your father some tea, but ladies first." Bulma grinned eagerly and pulled her favorite star covered mug off the tray, leaving the bland maroon one for her father as he didn't mind. She never asked her mother for anything, but she was always there when she needed her, usually holding food or drink, something Bulma frequently forgot she required. "It's an spice blend this time, I think it's quite good."

Bulma took a small swig of the tea, never minding the heat, and was surprised at the taste--something in it reminded her of cinnamon, a spice she knew only existed on Earth. "This is great, mom, thank you."

"I know you won't listen to me, but please try to get some sleep, both you and your father stay up too late."

"I promise I'll try," Bulma said before taking another short sip of tea, placing the starred mug on the pile of boxes that served as her side table. She always tried, she thought, but sleep was hard to come by living in a small apartment on top of their shop, surrounded by noises far too foreign and loud for her to fully adjust to. Sometimes she would catch a few hours before she took over from her father, sleeping out of pure exhaustion and able to block out some noise with the sound of mechanical equipment. Her mother slipped out as softly as she had peeked in and from a room away she could hear her cooing at her father. If there was one thing Bulma admired, it was her parents’ marriage--through thick and thin they had stayed together, trusted in one another, and had risen above all of the death and destruction they had faced hand-in-hand. 

She pulled out a large handmade notebook hidden between her small mattress and the wall. It was compiled of random bits of scrap paper, food wrappers, and scattered trash she had flattened out. Bulma had asked about notebooks and only received confusion in response; she supposed that they had had significant technological advances for so long that paper had become unnecessary--or maybe they never had it, but an alien equivalent and she simply didn't know how to describe it. Regardless, after a thorough search of the space station and online catelogs, she couldn't find anything remotely close. She was thankful that their space pod had contained a few useful items, including the pencil she preciously used to jot down her notes she couldn't have floating around on the intergalactic internet. Her designs, sketches, and math felt safer on something flammable and physically secured near her, as opposed to possibly coming up on any Imperial Police Force datalog checks. She couldn’t exactly explain away the ideas for a death machine, on the off chance they could understand any of the science she played around with.

Part of her secrecy was due to her limited access to resources. At the moment, she and her father were seen as lesser, weaker beings of a now non-existant planet and were hardly on anyone’s radar in terms of threat level. They had arrived at this space station in the escape pod her father had purchased back from a dodgey docks owner, never alerting the police to its presence. They never had to endure the rigourous searches and paperwork by the police--her father had handled every thing down to their identity cards with hardened criminals in back alley exchanges. She had never known her father to be as brave as he was when they arrived, or as good at being a criminal as he turned out to be. No one expected the elderly man in large glasses to be up to anything nefarious. He reminded her that it was Frieza’s wish to exterminate their planet, and they could very well be killed if they were discovered to have escaped. His exact words were, “He doesn’t seem like the type of dictator to want to shown up by tiny Earthlings.” They **had** , as Bulma saw it, and she wanted to be the one to avenge her planet, and have that scaly bastard realise just what a mistake messing with her planet was. She sometimes recited lines she'd use when she brought him to his knees, seconds away from pulling the trigger, _"How's my power level now?"_ That was a personal favorite.

The escape pod her father salvaged was the main part of her design, as she knew the materials well enough to repurpose them into a weapon. The hull was made of a near indestructible metal from Earth, something she had worked with many times before. She only wished she had _more_ of it. They had escaped in one pod, the few others her father had quickly thrown together were given to friends of the family, but there was no indication from space that they had launched properly or left the orbit of Earth before it was decimated; and while the hulls could withstand a great deal of pressure and heat, it could not survive the blast necessary to destroy a planet.

Bulma ran a hand through her shoulder length, wavy hair, fingers getting caught in tendrils that had tangled together. She pulled roughly, taking several strands out of her head in the process. She used the pain to snap her back into the moment, it was best not to relive the past, she reminded herself. She jotted down different ideas that had come to her earlier on in the day, thankful to find space on pages of skematics she couldn't erase. She grabbed the cup of tea with her free hand and took a large gulp, relishing the warmth in her chest and the familiar smell of cinnamon filling her small space.

\--------¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥-------

He had taken a long detour: returned to his ship, took a stiff shower, changed into imperial-issued battle gear, and replaced his purposefully broken scouter. He made his way to the rendezvous point, an Imperial troop station post within the space station. Although it was one of the largest parts of the station, it only had one sparring ring and a few floors of offices and large bunk spaces. It was no comparison to the ships they had that dwarfed the free floating station; complete with armies on board and amenities to keep them fed, bed, and in fighting form. This was merely a point to pick up coordinates for their next destination, and, if necessary, spend a few hours relieving the soldiers of their…“urges”, as he remembered it said to him.

It was precisely his failure in this venture that he wanted to leave as soon as possible. He could almost laugh at the irony of using his job as a distraction from the distraction he felt on this station. Instead he tensed his shoulders and made his way to the sparring ring--knowing even if no one was around, the bots would prove useful enough; sometimes they were even more of a threat than the other pathetic warriors Frieza continued to collect. He let out a grunt as he took to the middle of the ring, floating in the air, giving any possible candidates the chance to enter the ring with him before he summoned the bots. 

“Heya, Vegeta!” He sighed heavily seeing his other Saiyan companion enter the ring behind him. “I thought that was you! Well, of course it'd be you, no one else has that hair.”

“All Saiyans have unique hair, Kakkarot, you too.”

“Heh, I guess you’re right,” He shrugged and rolled his eyes up to try and look at his own gravity-defying mane, which frayed outwards like a child waking up from a deep sleep. Vegeta always felt his had a cleaner, more streamlined look. Certainly better for battle, never able to get into his eyes unlike his companion's; besides, it was the same as his father, and his father before him. “Where did you go earlier? I see you got your scouter fixed, that's good, I'm always breaking them, tell me where you got yours fixed, it looks great.” The mention of his broken scouter flashed blue curls across his mind and he shook his hand, tightening it into a fist.

“Enough small talk.”

“Whoo! Goku!” A roaring shout could be heard from outside of the ring, and Vegeta noted a small crowd of Imperial troopers lining the ring to watch the fight. “It's Goku and Vegeta sparring. My money's on the prince.” Said another voice, calling for bets. “I'll take that bet, Kakka--Goku always has something stupid up his sleeve, unpredictable bastard.” A familiar voice responded, he noted Raditz's insanely long mane from the corner of his eye--betting on his brother…typical, Vegeta thought. Although it didn't bother him, it just spurred him even further; now he could beat Goku and Raditz would lose his hard earned credits. 

“Are you going to just stand there or are you going to come at me?” Vegeta asked with a smirk, ready to fight the only other person who could match him.

“You sure you can handle it?” He teased, his face changing from childish curiosity to engaged warrior. Vegeta met Goku in the middle of the ring, both using instant transmission to try and take the upper hand early on in the game. When their limbs clashed, the friction between their two kis created sparks and claps of thunder rolled through the arena kicking the crowd into a hooting and hollering frenzy. Goku blocked a forceful kick almost too late, and he scrunched his brows together. “You sure you're okay, Vegeta?” He asked softly when they collided again. Vegeta clenched his jaw and took another ki swipe at his head, which Goku ducked with ease. “You seem out of it still. I thought you said you were going to be back to normal soon.” They parried each other's attacks again for a few minutes before Vegeta managed to connect a fist in Goku's face, sending him spiraling towards the ground. A few feet before impact, Goku stabled himself, wiped his chin and grinned. “Nice one!”

Vegeta didn't stop in his attack, using his friend's inability to focus to his advantage. He transmitted behind his head, but Goku blocked his attack with a lift of his forearm. Goku then twisted to grab Vegeta's leg, swinging him up and away with a force only a Saiyan could use. Vegeta righted himself in the air before he was met with Goku again, face-to-face, his contorted into one of concern. This wasn't going how he hoped. 

He wanted to fight an unknown cadete who was in over his head, who he could pummel into the ground without questions or concerned glances. Kakkarot cares too much, he thought, it’s irritating as hell. “Argh!” Vegeta grunted and brought both hands down on Goku's head to smack that look of pity from his face. Goku instead transmitted behind him, pulling him into a neck hold--his breath hot against Vegeta's ear sending an uncomfortable chill down his spine. “You know you can talk to me about anything.”

Vegeta growled angrily and kicked his leg back, inbetween Goku's, rolling himself forward and throwing Goku’s weight before him. Then, using the same momentum from his roll to land a punch in his gut. Goku crashed into the side of the arena, outside of the ring, which technically meant that Vegeta had won that round of the match, but that was never their version of sparring. The betting pool down below were causing a ruckus. Vegeta was sure he could hear Raditz arguing that very same point to defend his bet, “Saiyans have a different system!” Goku was back in the air in seconds flat, and Vegeta had prepared for him to use his instant transmission behind him, but he appeared in front, throwing his knee into Vegeta's side and his fist into Vegeta's right cheek.

“Tch.” Vegeta caught himself before landing outside of the ring, following both rules at the same time as he could never let his inferiors see him lose. He wasn't about to be knocked out of the ring or out of consciousness. Kakkarot can take a lot of beatings, he thought, especially to his head. This led him to decide to make a series of planned attacks, knowing himself to be the better strategist, and if it worked, his opponent would be incapacitated or needing a regeneration tank. 

He wasted no time in speeding straight forward, pretending to transmit himself to confused Goku--a trick he'd learned when Goku couldn't control his transmitting abilities for a while--and took a swift kick to Goku’s stomach sending him towards the ceiling. He teleported vertical to Goku’s horizontal and hammered down upon his back with both arms. At the same time, lifting his knee to connect with his gut again, causing Goku to release all the air in his lungs. Vegeta grabbed Goku's free arm and in a couple of large swings in the air, released him to the ground in a strategic move to catch Goku off-guard. Instead of transmitting to the ground where he would impact, Vegeta made sure to hide himself in Goku's blind spot when he finally righted himself. Goku took a half a second to glance behind him to find no one, and that was when Vegeta sent a ki swipe with such force he toppled like a ragdoll into the front side of the arena, taking an electronic scoreboard into the crater with him. 

Goku took a minute before crawling up out of the deep crevace his body had created upon impact. He was out of breath and waved a hand at Vegeta in submission. “Wo-wow, good job!” He called out in that ridiculously jovial tone he always had no matter the situation. Vegeta wasn't satisfied. They always sparred without full abilities so they wouldn't destroy the station or planet they sparred on, but also to test each others individual strengths. Typically their sparring sessions would last for hours, until one of them was too injured to move, but Goku was waving surrender.

“Are you kidding me?” A loud, annoyed voice called from the distance which Vegeta immediately recognized as Raditz. “Kakkarot, don't give up that easily!”

“But I'm really hungry, and fighting with Vegeta will take forever.” Vegeta tsked loudly that one of the only Saiyans left in the galaxy would rather be eating than fighting. “Are you hungry, Vegeta? There's a open buffet down the street.” Vegeta was hungry, as he had spent most of the day waiting around for--stop it, he ordered his brain.

“Hn.” He agreed and landed on the ground near Goku, who seemingly looked no worse for wear than usual; he was definitely giving up too soon, but Vegeta was hardly getting what he needed from sparring, perhaps Kakkarot had a point in stuffing his face so there'd be no time for stupid, emotional questions, he thought. Raditz came over, his anger evident on his face as he smacked his brother upside the head.

“Hey!” Goku whined, acting as if the small pet hurt.

“You are an embarrassment sometimes, you cost me 50 credits! You're buying me lunch!” Raditz placed his hands on his hips and sighed openly. He gave a small nod towards Vegeta; a respectful recognition of his status above his own. Vegeta crossed his arms over his chest, planning to follow suit to wherever this “buffet” was. Raditz walked side-by-side with his brother, making a comment about his name that Vegeta barely caught. “--your given name, your Saiyan name--don't let them take that from you.”

“I'm not, they just prefer to call me Goku, it was something about eating, it's just a nickname.”

“We do not have nicknames.” Vegeta found himself instructing his subject, as if he was teaching a toddler about Saiyan culture and procedures. Kakkarot had suffered a terrible head injury when he was younger, and had forgotten most of his past, including the memories of his parents. In a way he pitied and envied the man. On the one hand he was separated from his people and culture and continually forced to relearn everything, on the other, he didn't face the utter grief the rest of them felt at the destruction of their homeworld. 

“Goku can exist with them, and not with us.” Raditz tried to explain it as simply as he could, but it was obvious Kakkarot, or Goku, was having a hard time understanding the difference.

“Hm, I still don't get it, but okay. Oh,” he said while taking a left hand turn down a large alleyway filled with restaurants and open stalls, “here we go!” He led them through a small doorway which opened into a large single room with long stretches of benches and along the wall were piles of dishes that caused Vegeta's empty stomach to rumble.

Once they had gathered enough plates to satiate their appetite for the moment, a six-armed waitress was pouring them alcoholic beverages they downed as quickly as she served them. They tipped plates full of food into their mouths, chewing openly and causing the waitress to grimace in both of her mouths before leaving their table. “So,” Raditz took another pint and downed it, “how is the planning going?”

“You want to be killed?” Vegeta warned through a mouthful of food. He watched behind his plate as Raditz rolled his eyes and took an open glance around the restaurant. Goku barely paid attention when food was around, and continued to stuff his face, happily noting how delicious everything was.

“Relax, we’re not talking about anything but your ‘vacation’ plans,” Raditz said with a raise of his eyebrows on ‘vacation’. Vegeta felt like returning to his ship.

“Oh, Vegeta, you’re going on vacation?” Goku sputtered through half-chewed food, “That’s great! You’ve been so stressed out.”

“No, you imbecile, I’m not going on vacation.” Vegeta replied.

“No, we’re talking about ‘vacation’ planning,” Raditz reminded them both with open-air quotations around vacation.

“Were both of your parents as dumb as you two have turned out?” Raditz and Goku gave each other a side glance. “It’s like talking with children! Raditz, if you are done attempting to be discreet, the answer to your question is there is no progress.” The two brothers were silent for a moment, one contemplating just how angry he had made his prince, and the other confused by the entire conversation.

“So...you’re not going on vacation?” Goku asked, finishing slurping some kind of noodle into his mouth. Vegeta chose not to respond, instead filling his own mouth with enough food to keep from biting their heads off. “Are you still planning on going after Frieza?” Vegeta couldn’t help but feel Frieza purposefully left him with the two dumbest Saiyans alive. He shovelled more food into his mouth as he sent daggers into both his companions.

He heard Raditz whispering behind his hand to his brother, “He just said there was no progress. Pay attention.” Vegeta attempted to slow his breathing, mentally noting how loud Goku had been and scanned the area for any nearby familiar kis who might use that information their advantage. Vegeta downed another pint of alcohol before getting up from the bench. He rest both palms open on the table in front of him and took a long breath before speaking.

“You will meet me at the ship in fifteen minutes, we will leave for our assignment. You will not speak again until I give you permission to, is that understood.”

“Yes--” Raditz smacked his brother in the arm, forcing Goku to silently nod in agreement

“If I hear a single word from either of you, I will not hestitate to cut the remaining Saiyan bloodlines from three to two.” Goku’s brows furrowed in confusion as he counted the remaining members of the race on his one hand and Vegeta knew immediately his next question, “Raditz, you will explain to your brother why you are both part of the same bloodline when we are on our way to our destination.” Raditz nodded before Vegeta swivelled on his feet and exited the restaurant.

Raditz waited until he could no longer sense Vegeta’s ki signature before smacking Goku upside the head, “You’re paying for all of us.”


	2. Haunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for last chapter's spelling mistakes. Doing stuff from my tablet is harder than my computer!
> 
> Will probably go back and edit that another time!

CHAPTER TWO: HAUNTED

Bulma had spent a week working on the project in front of her. She had to restart several times as the work was so tiny and precise it required the deft hands of a well-rested engineer; so after three failed attempts, she managed to drag herself into bed and slept for a day straight, according to her mother. Although her mind flew into frantic anxiety mode when she was told, her body was still too tired to get up out of bed. Her mother gave her a different kind of herbal concoction that helped her fall asleep, but gave her increasingly, vivid nightmares.

The dreams started with standing on her front lawn, her friends arriving for a get together she annually held at her sprawling mansion estate. As she waved, welcoming their arrival, the sky turned a vibrant orange with splatters of red. In gut-wrenching screams, her friends began to melt feet first. They would reach for her, their eyes stricken with agony and desperation before their faces would begin to warp. Bulma wanted to look away, but she was frozen with her arm stuck in a permanent wave, as if she was waving goodbye to them. The helpless as she was forced to watch followed her back into reality. Each time she would wake in a light sheen of sweat and find herself hanging off the side of her small mattress, blood rushing to her head. After a few long days of deep sleep, she begged her mother not to give her any more strange nightmares drinks and settled for restless nights and day napping. However painful, the short resting period had made it possible to deliver on some very technical work she needed to perfect to be paid.

In the garage where she worked, her father had scavenged a few boxes full of junk from around the area; either off the street, in public dumpsters, or things he bought from local shop owners around. The opening to the garage served as a makeshift store front, though thanks to her father's collection of random bits and bobs, the front area was blocked by a piece of heavy sheet metal taken from an old ship so they could work in privacy, and for some semblance of security. She glanced at the boxes and sighed, she knew she needed to go through them, but every part of her ached and she desperately wished she could relax in a hot bath. The days of baths are over, she thought, then set her forehead down upon the cold surface of the work bench.

"We've got another easy one, here." Dr. Briefs said, setting down a belt that was used to help stablise workers in space and to keep their tools magnetised to them. He had been giving her easier jobs as her mother had been openly worried about her lack of sleep recently. 

"Thanks, dad, tell them I can have it finished in an hour." She reached for it with a heavy hand, not lifting her head from the table. Her father placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle rub.

"Do you want to go out and have a look around? Is there some place you'd like to go? You could buy a new outfit or..." He paused, his mustache bobbing up and down as he tried to remember exactly what his daughter was interested in. She tilted her head to give him a sly glance and he scratched his head, "...nail polish?" She chuckled and pulled herself up from the table, turning and pulling her father into a tight hug, something she didn't do enough on Earth. He was startled for a second before returning the hug, he stumbled over his next words, unsure of whether to continue or not. Bulma gave him a kiss on the cheek and smiled a genuine smile at him.

"Thank you, dad," she said, "I love you. I know you and mom are worried about me, but I'm okay. I promise."

"I know, I know." His mustache turned slightly upwards as he smiled back. "You've always been a strong woman, Bulma. Your mother and I wish we could offer you something, you're our child...we want you to be happy, not just okay." she looked back to the large boxes of collected rubbish and smiled again, "Even if all we can offer is a haircut. I'm sure they have a salon on an alien space station, I've seen a creature that was only hair walking about." He tilted his head to the side. “I know it’s a very different situation to what you grew up with, we don’t have all the money that we had, all the privileges, and I still don’t want you to want for anything--so if--if you’d like to spend some extra credits, your mother and I have prepared for that.”

Bulma laughed and turned to the boxes of garbage her father had collected. "But I have _all of this_ , what more could I ask for?" She stepped to the side, showcasing them as if they were a prize to be won on one of the game shows he used to enjoy watching when he got home from work. She put a hand inside and pulled out a random piece, displaying it like jewelry, "Isn't this just the most beautiful necklace you've ever seen?" She set it down and rummaged about, pulling out something a bit blockish, "Look, a--" She gave it a turn in her hands, letting out a surprised huff, "--it's a scouter," She placed it to the side of her head, the broken eye piece missing, but the metal that would've held it stayed put, "this is actually a great find, where'd you pick this up? They don't let these things go usually, do they?" Her father came forward and fixed his glasses on his nose.

"I didn't notice what it was, to be honest, it was just lying on the ground somewhere outside. Think someone dropped it?"

"Dropped it or trashed it, regardless, it's a good find. I might be able to get this working again." 

"I don't think we can sell that back to anyone...well not out front at least." He said with another scratch of his head. She let out a small laugh at her criminal father before placing it on the work bench in front of them. It would require a lot of work, she thought, but if anyone could do it, she could. Her thoughts went immediately to what she might find on it's memory or what she might be able to access with it. "You think you can get it working again?" She gave him a knowing glance and he patted her on the back. "Of course you can, you're _my_ daughter after all."

She pursed her lips as she looked it over, noting the fixes she would need to make and the materials she would need. "I will take you up on your offer, dad, I am going to need get a few bits. Also, I think you’re right, I will get a haircut." 

\-------------------

Vegeta paced back and forth between the door of his chambers and the small bunk that occupied the room. He bit the end of his thumb as he tried to rearrange his thoughts into a somewhat working order. The only problem with trying to stage a coup-d'etat against the greatest dictator the galaxy has ever known is that all of his planning had been solely in his head lest someone find it. He had made the mistake of informing _his_ men; who happen to be the loudest, least discreet creatures he had the misfortune of ruling, but he tried his best to work with what he had. What they lacked in discretion they made up for in sheer strength and talent, a Saiyan's best traits, and he couldn't fault them on their progress. Kakarot alone has proven that the Legendary may actually be true, he thought, although the title should, of course, fall to him, as prince. He had thought of the lasting ramifications of Goku being the Legendary many times, and the sheepish grin of the oaf as he accepted praise for defeating Frieza was too much for his pride to handle. He often used it as momentum during training, but would sometimes become so enraged he'd damage the facilities, putting them out of commission and stalling his training.

He had thought of how he would kill Frieza countless times when he was younger, having been traded to him in order to secure Vegeta-sei's safety. He was angry at his father for making such a deal with a disgusting wretch as Frieza, confused by why his own countrymen didn't fight harder, why they weren't strong enough to defeat him and his army. After having serving with Frieza, rebelling in his own ways, unleashing his Oozaru within his throne room, Frieza found the Saiyan race to be too hostile and put an end to his people with one final, decisive move. Vegeta remembered his sickening laugh as he forced him to watch his planet be destroyed, and then to end the night, he removed Vegeta's tail, the last remnant of his Saiyan-hood, all while he was only eight years old.

Nappa, Raditz, and Goku were a part of their selective pickings as the planet died--and they were the only ones to survive this long. Frieza had a strong hatred for Saiyans, preferring to call them 'stupid apes' or 'filthy monkeys'. He de-tailed every Saiyan that came aboard his ship, hanging them on the wall like trophies, and occasionally bringing one down to swing at them if he felt particularly cruel that day. Vegeta may follow many of the rules now, knowing the consequences of his actions, but he never forgot a single word Frieza said to him or to his men. He was still the prince of all Saiyans, all three of them; and he promised them they would avenge their planet, their families, and if he died trying, he would give them back the glory of being of Saiyan once more.

Vegeta hadn't expected as a young child what killing an intergalactic super demon would entail, and had spent far too many years training and failing to achieve a high enough power level to fight him on an even playing field, let alone destroy him. A part of him felt destined for this one task, and another felt entirely hopeless in the effort. How could he defeat the monster that his entire race could not?

Their only hope was to strike during a moment of weakness, when Frieza’s guard would be down; if they could gain the upper hand quickly, it might mean the difference between his defeat or theirs. Vegeta knew he needed to make sure that whatever their plan was going to be, it was perfect down to the second, down to every inch of their movements. Until then, they were to play good royal officers and do their “due diligence,” which consisted of repeating what happened to his own planet to countless others. Typically Frieza would enslave the planet under his rule if the resources or the habitants appeared useful, but it always involved Vegeta getting his hands dirty in some form or fashion.

He tried not to think of them as people, tried to block out their screams for mercy, not watch their desperate attempts to escape, but every thing found its way back to him in his sleep. Incapable of keeping his subconscious from taking over and the ghosts of those he slaughtered making it impossible for him to get a decent night’s rest. He slept very little, and tonight was another sleepless night, pacing within two feet of space, his mind racing.

“Tch,” He cursed himself for not being the harbored stone-blooded killer he needed to be to live the life afforded to him. He felt weak, letting his emotions run wild and take control of him. He needed to detach, to plan, to strategise, and he couldn’t do that if he felt like crumbling into pieces at the very thought of his planet. As much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t feel strong enough to do what he promised; emotionally, mentally, physically, he was weak and no matter what he did, he felt like he was running in place, constantly out of breath and always in the same place.

Goku, the more sensitive of his subjects, had attempted to breech this conversation many times. How was Vegeta feeling? Did he need to talk? The questions were never-ending and infuriating; mostly because he didn’t have the answers, or he did and he was afraid of them. The prince of all Saiyans afraid of his feelings, he thought, what a joke. Goku was far more comfortable letting his feelings flow, sadness, anger, hope, even love; it was easy for him, and he was still the strongest out of the other three. It didn’t weigh him down, which Vegeta was envious of, as he felt his emotions like anchors tied to his legs. “What do you need?” Goku had asked him, only yesterday, his eyes softened and yet strong at the same time. Vegeta had straightened his shoulders and walked away in a huff, shaking away the number of answers that question had.

Her soft lips and flushed face had crossed his mind, the blue headed woman was a constant in his thoughts now: nameless, expressive, and beautiful. He knew it wasn’t just lust after he had drunkenly forced himself into a brothel and tried to rid himself of whatever sexual frustration had built up over the years. No, there was something else, he was _seeing_ her--not imagining her naked in front of him, panting on her hands and knees as he had done with the only creature with a bit of blue he could find. He was seeing her expressions, her exhaustion, her anger, her soft smiles at her father, the concentrated look on her face when being handed something new to fix, and some part of him felt a kindred spark towards her. She felt familiar, even if the idea was absurd, he thought.

He tried his best to keep her from flashing up, trying to manage his job as best he could, but after a few sights of blue and a noticeable hesitation caused his men to question him, he sought out the brothel. It took enough alcohol to kill an ordinary man to work up the courage to go inside, and he could barely form sentences as they lined up in front of him. He sought out blue, it was more navy, than her blue-green, but he took whatever he could get. He set about putting her face and the body he imagined was under the baggy work clothes she wore, and set to getting her out of his head. It hadn’t worked, but had cleared up a few issues he had been struggling with.

Nappa tried to make a comment about Vegeta finally “getting some,” and he had noticed Raditz punch him in his side. Kakarot and his brother share more than just the same face, he noted before returning to his bunk to shower off the sickening smell of incense and flowery perfume.

They had finished their task and were headed back to the same station he knew she lived on. He imagined her working restlessly through the night, the same determination he had seen on her face once, and wondered if she ever felt stuck as he did. How did she cope? Did she ever wish she was someone else, as he did? He wanted to ask her these questions, but knew he never would--doing so required him to accept Goku’s offer of openness and friendship; something he wasn’t sure he would ever be capable of doing.

They would be docking within the next day. He had to keep from seeking her out, he had to try to eliminate the possibility of running into her, he needed to cleanse her from his mind no matter the strange connection he felt towards her, because it was a needless, emotional distraction. He had people to depended on him to destroy Frieza, and he need every brain cell working at full capacity towards that goal. He would do what it needed and leave again. At least he had planned this much, he thought, and sighed openly, sitting on the edge of his cot and holding his head in his hands.

\-------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW, I am slow-burning this one, I like a nice slow burn before the fire fully catches on. I promise there will be a meeting in the next chapter.
> 
> I really wanted to focus on how similar they are, in some very obvious ways, but always less subtle ways. It's what makes them fit together so perfectly. :3
> 
> I could almost see myself writing a KakaVege story like part way into this lol.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this short chapter!


	3. Magnetic

CHAPTER THREE: MAGNETIC

 

Getting a haircut had been easier than she thought; although they did comment on her _lack_ of body hair. She came out with a cute pixie cut she had wanted for a while, frustrated with having to wash so much hair she only ever threw into a ponytail. The hairdresser had at least four arms and multi-tasked very well. When she started cutting, Bulma was reminded of just how many times she had taken a decent salon for granted. She felt excited and relaxed at the same time, anxious at whether her choice to chop off her long locks was a good idea, but also convinced she could rock any hairstyle she tried. Bulma felt freer and lighter, as if her hair held all the sorrow and worry of the past few years. It didn’t hurt that it cost so few credits as well.

She spent a lot on several small tech pieces from a shop nearby her favorite restaurant; the only one that served anything remotely close to what she could find on Earth--even if the meat was questionable, it was delicious. After a quick bite, she wanted to get back to work to get the scouter fixed. Throughout her cut and shopping she was deconstructing the part in her head, pulling the pieces she knew she needed from the store shelves. Her mind was fully focused on her project when she bumped into someone hard.

“Oh, sorry.” She said, thankful her native language was Galactic Standard, and not by coincidence as Galactic Standard was created before the humans on Earth learned to stand upright and introduced by alien species who cohabited her planet for hundreds of years before her birth. Although there were thousands of alien languages used on the station, she could at least be understood by the vast majority. The bulbous purploid man didn’t give her a second thought as he inched onto his tip toes to view over the crowd she failed to notice. “What is happening?” She asked openly, hoping someone around her would answer but all she could hear were similar thoughts of inquiry. 

She wiggled her way through the crowd, shuffling through giant and small beings alike, glad to be of the smaller variety for moments like this. “Hey!” She turned at the voice, ready to apologise. A familiar amphibian face entered her view, a vibrant green with large dark green splotches across his scaly and bulky frame.

“Oh--” Bulma agreed to a quick shoulder pat as his customary greeting, “--Pimon,” she scooted to stand next to him, both of them attempting to get a better view of the commotion, “what is happening?”

“Scuffle from what I can tell, must be the IF’s?” IF was slang for the Imperial Forces, Frieza’s billion body army, and a more frequent issue upon the station. Bulma bit her bottom lip a bit too hard. People like herself and her family had to ensure they avoided direct contact with the Imperial Forces as her papers were fraudulent. They fooled the station’s police force fine enough, but the IF was a different level of technological advancement and when her papers would not pull up her information but someone else’s, she’d be imprisoned or worse.

“You don’t think they’re doing checks do you?”

“We’re all fucked if they are, half this neighbourhood is illegal.” Pimon pulled up a hand to his ear, answering a phone call. “You got it?” There was a pause and she could hear a few other voices on the other line. “Okay, thanks. Just give me an update when it’s done.” Bulma didn’t need to know the specifics of Pimon’s business, as he ran one of the few black market spots on the station and was probably preparing for an inevitability that the IF weren’t here to just rough up a few people. He turned his attention back to Bulma. “Maybe you should get back?” It felt more like advice than a suggestion

“Don’t think I can handle the IF?” Bulma teased.

“I’m not sure they’d stand a chance with you, which is why they’d have to destroy the entire station to get rid of you.” Pimon didn’t laugh and Bulma shot him a small curious glance. “I got the materials you asked for, even though I said no.” Her eyes widened. “Don’t get too excited, it’s going to cost you.” He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, offering her one which she declined, lit it and took a long draw. “You know you’re too fucking smart and that makes you dangerous. Don’t think I don’t know what you’d try to build with some of those goods.”

“I’ll pay.” She took a second to gather her thoughts and breath, trying not to draw too much attention to their conversation. “But I’m going to try to deny anything because you’re not that gullible.”

“Your business is your business, Bulma. I’m not gonna try and stop you, but at least acknowledge that once you get on their radar you won’t escape it, not alive.” He made decent points that she had already considered, but because she had only pieces of multiple plans, she couldn’t plan for the end possibilities yet.

“Yeah.” She let her small smile fade away as she peeked over the top of a few heads, angling her head up to see anything that might be happening. “What the hell?”

Two men, two very human looking men, she thought, floated in the sky above one of the buildings across the way. For a moment she thought she was seeing things, but they were there and very much the first humanoid looking creatures she had seen since Earth. In her three years on this station she hadn’t so much as crossed paths with a four-limbed bipedal being that wasn’t some strange shade of purple or green, half amphibian or insect. She would’ve thought they were human if they weren’t flying with no obvious aerial propulsion device she could see; and if Frieza had tech like that at his disposal, she would know about it. One was much larger than the other, bald, with a handlebar mustache; the other was shorter, with hair that reached his ankles, and was speaking with his hands placed firmly on his hips. 

“Do you see them?” She pointed with her index finger to the men and Pimon followed her line of sight and saw him immediately tense from head to toe. He muttered a few curses to himself before pulling a hand to his ear and pressing his pearl communicator several times.

“Saiyans are here.” He said with a slight shake in his voice. “Just get it off the station, just take off for the time being. Fuck, okay, I’m on my way.” He placed a hand on Bulma’s shoulder, but she didn’t take her eyes away from the new Saiyans she had discovered. Were they related to homo sapiens in some way, she questioned to herself, her brows drawn quizzically.

“Just get home in one piece.” He said as he stomped his cigarette and squeezed past her. She wasn’t the only one noticing them now, and several parts of the crowd were dispersing quickly. She wasn’t sure when they had arrived as she hadn’t heard or seen them, they had just appeared out of thin air; and they were flying, so definitely not human, but it was impossible to tell the difference visually. She fought the urge to get closer to examine them, curiosity biting the back of her tongue, begging her to spit out all of the questions that filled her head.

She wished she had taken the cigarette now, craving something to help calm her down. They were clearly dangerous, somehow, they were scaring off the crowd by merely standing there, but she had never heard of them before. Do they not frequent this station, she asked, are they top brass? Part of her wondered if people were afraid of their appearance. Her father was small and grey, hardly threatening looking; however, these men were tall, muscular was an understatement, she thought, and both looked like the kind of men you’d see guarding a door outside a nightclub. To her, they weren’t all that frightening, but perhaps it was what they could do that scared the public. They must be well known then, she thought, but why haven’t I heard of them? 

The crowd had begun to dissipate and her view of the previous commotion was not long obstructed. Several bodies lied outside of a property that had IF soldiers entering and exiting with illicit substances and technology. While the station was incredibly large and multi-tiered, she assumed she would hear blaster shots in her own neighborhood, even if she did have multiple scissors clipping next to her ears. She was now feeling a bit conspicuous and took several large steps back to the side of some terraced shops. She hadn’t taken her eyes off the two Saiyan men in the sky as she did, and ended up bumping into someone solid and unmoving. She apologised as she turned on her heel, only to feel herself stumbling in surprise as she was met with another human face. She fell on her butt, cursing loudly.

He was shorter than the other two, part of his height was his gravity defying mane that stood up like the tip of a flame, but well muscular as well, more proportionate than bulky like the bald one. His arms were folded tightly across his chest and he wore an irritated look on his sharp, angled face. My God he looks so much like me, Bulma thought; and she must’ve looked entirely shell-shocked from the ground as he raised an eyebrow as he asked, “What did you say?”

What did I say, Bulma thought, quickly feeling tension rise in her body.

“I look nothing like you.” She realised she had said her thought out loud in a daze and shook her head before picking herself up off the ground. He wasn’t that much taller than her, she realised, and although she had hoped that would make her feel less threatened, her heart beat rapidly in her throat.

“No, you look Human.” She clarified. “But you’re not.” She immediately felt a pull to touch his hair, and she felt a flush sensation between her thighs at the sight of the first man who resembled an Earthling. Oh, I’m pathetic, she mused. He didn’t reply and she tried to swallow the uncomfortable heat she felt rising within her, forming in her cheeks. “I mean, they’re all dead.” Jesus Christ, Bulma, she said to herself, wanting to willfully smack herself in the face. “The...Humans.”

He gave her a cursory glance, tilting his head to the side slightly and eyeing her up and down. “Your hair is different.” He stated bluntly. She quickly pulled a hand up to fiddle with long locks only to grasp empty at her shoulder, she tried to cover up her mistake by reaching instead to tug at the small hairs at the base of her neck. She had always had unique colouring in comparison to her friends, but she supposed they didn’t have cerulean hair on his planet. Out of the three Saiyans she had officially seen, each of their hair had a dark brown, almost black quality; and their eyes were dark as well, from what she could see. His were a deep ebony that sat underneath a strong brow. She wasn’t sure how to respond to his gaze or his statement except to blush furiously.

She wondered if she would have responded in the same way if the other two had shown up behind her instead of up in the sky, far enough away that she could avoid their gaze. Something about this man felt dangerous, but the kind she used to hunt for in bars and on dating websites, not the kind that made her feel like sleeping with a kitchen knife. He was handsome, chiseled, and the first man (who wasn’t her father) that she’d seen since her last boyfriend, Yamcha, back on Earth. She felt butterflies wizz their way into her stomach and she felt physically ill, swallowing the pain of her beating heart, a desperate urge to burp, and what felt like an entire lifetime of repressed sexual tension. “I should go.” She said quickly, hitching her thumb in the direction she would walk, nodded a couple of times, shifting her glance between his and the ground, and finally taking off in the direction she mentioned.

Oh my God, oh my God, Christ, Christ, Christ, Bulma thought as she lightly jogged back into busy foot traffic to try and lose herself in bodies of colour.

\----------------------------

Several Imperial Force trainees had been called out on assignment to handle a drug sting operation gone wrong by the local authorities, according to the report, several officers had died alongside the dealers; Vegeta scoffed at the thought of dealing with something so menial as “police work.” Goku, Raditz, Nappa, and himself had arrived a few hours earlier and had separated to take part in their daily rituals: Goku would find a restaurant to inhale, Raditz would frequent his local brothel, Nappa did something with cards, and Vegeta trained.

He didn’t take to the ring this time, instead choosing a smaller training chamber with bots. He needed to focus on getting stronger, training harder and more often; and it had worked for about an hour before the bots were destroyed. He hadn’t even broken a sweat before he had let out a few ki blasts that all of them errored in deflecting back at him. He let out a scream of frustration at the inconvenience. How was he meant to get stronger if nothing challenged him? He had shouted, enraged, down corridors, demanding someone come and fix his problem so he could get back to training, but found no one on site.

He went to find his fellow Saiyans, feeling two of their ki signatures on the other side of the station, and one down a few levels where he knew there were rows upon rows of standing-serve style restaurants. He didn’t bother flying, using instant transmission to teleport near his companions. He ended up on the roof of a selection of stores, seeing Nappa and Raditz floating above the crime scene where the trainees were called. He let out a growl and they noted his presence with a slight bow of their heads. “They said there was a crowd,” Nappa explained, “and I felt like there might be an opportunity to fight.” Vegeta rolled his eyes in response.

“As if any of these pathetic creatures could match us, don’t be ridiculous.” Vegeta replied.

“Well, I was just...in the area.” Raditz attempted to cover up his brothel activity when Vegeta could smell the sickening flowery perfumes from this distance. He wrinkled his nose and crossed his arms over his chest. “I felt Nappa arrive and thought we could grab a drink, but he’s more interested in _this_.” Raditz looked down at the crowd and gestured with a limp hand.

“If you paid attention to any briefings, you would know this is where those black market dealers are. The ones with the high powered weapons.” Nappa glanced eagerly at the crowd, hoping to pinpoint someone who might choose to rebel.

“Why would I bore myself with that shit?” Raditz asked as he placed his hands on his hips. Vegeta tuned out their squabble as his eyes scanned the crowd, a habit he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to drop. He just wanted to find someone to return to the base and his the bots, the sooner the better, he couldn’t waste his time with this nonsense any longer. 

In a flash, she was there. Blue, but softer, no, shorter, shorter and softer, his thoughts cascaded over one another. He had only made the decision to stop seeking her out the night before, and yet here she was, floating into his peripheral. He ground his teeth as he saw her conversing with some green thing he wouldn’t try to categorise. He tried to listen for her voice, but she was stopped dead in her tracks, looking up in the direction of Nappa and Raditz. The green man left in a hurry, and she didn’t move to follow him. He regarded her frozen stance and wondered if she was afraid. Although he had heightened senses, sensing her amongst a crowd of overwhelming sounds and smells came across unpleasant and distorted. 

He flew softly to the ground, scaring away a few pedestrians. He knew he should stop himself, shouldn’t seek her out, should ignore her, but he felt a magnetic pull towards her--something he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, try to fight. He stopped moving forward when he saw her attempting to flee the scene, her eyes never leaving his companions; and like two magnets, she collided with him.

He didn’t try to catch her as she tumbled to the ground, as he was almost sure if he touched her she would break into a thousand tiny pieces. Her ki signature was so low he wouldn’t have been able to pick it up if she weren’t right in front of him. She had cut all of her hair off, much to his dismay, as he had had many thoughts of running his fingers through it, but the cut itself only accentuated her eyes and rosy lips. She smelled nutty, and a softer sweeter smell, both of which caused his mouth to salivate.

“You look like me.” Her voice was above a whisper but he heard it clear as day. He arched an eyebrow at the suggestion and wondered if she had hit her head as well as her behind.

“What did you say?” He practically spat the question at her, his nerves firing on all ends. He tried to soften his tone, but it still came out as coarse as it would with his subjects. “I look nothing like you.” Her eyes got slightly larger, if that was even possible, Vegeta thought, before she scrambled her way back to her feet. She was wearing a tight white tank top with her dirty orange jumpsuit tied at the waist; it hung low and he hungrily searched for a lining of clothing underneath but could see none.

“No, you look Human--but you’re not.” Her voice picked up speed and slightly in pitch. “I mean, they’re all dead. The...Humans.” He had heard her yell at many customers, and typically she was very witty and crass, but if he hadn’t had sensitive hearing, he was sure he would’ve missed her comments entirely. He wanted to smirk as he saw heat rise in her cheeks, she wasn’t scared as he had thought she might be, she was flustered.

“Your hair is different.” He noted, then realised he’d admitted to seeing her more than once. He cursed himself inwardly, then stood stunned as the most ardent aroma filled his senses. Fuck, he repeated in his head, she’s aroused. He wasn’t sure if this was a typical Human response, but it wasn’t for Saiyans, not unless they wanted to mate--at least from what he had learned from Nappa’s stories as a child. He was causing the same reaction in her that she was causing in him, and he could _smell_ it. As far as she knew, he was just some stranger who was annoyed with her. He couldn’t see himself walking out of this situation without her on his shoulder, and the redder her face became, the tighter his pants felt.

“I should go.” He wanted to order she remain, but nothing came out. He was entirely transfixed by her; her colouring, her eyes, her lips, her _smell_ ; it was like she had struck a blow to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He watched helplessly as she practically ran from him, leaving a scent trail he could follow, wanted to follow, but a couple of familiar voices stopped him.

“Friend?” Nappa asked teasingly. They landed behind him, and he stayed with his back to them, urging his throbbing problem to ease down.

“She smells good--” Raditz wheezed as Vegeta’s fist connected with his stomach. Nappa let out an uproarious laugh and smacked Raditz hard on the back, preventing him from taking in another breath. Nappa noticed Vegeta’s bulging cock and laughed heavier, a surprised, somewhat proud look crossing his face. Vegeta didn’t make a move for Nappa as he knew it wouldn’t stop the old man from cackling.

“You will find someone to fix my bots.” Vegeta ordered to Raditz, who clutched his stomach in pain. “And make sure they’re in full working order before nightfall.” 

“Yes, Prince Vegeta.” He submitted, turning his pain into a bow.

“Nappa, you will spar with me in the ring until the bots are fixed.”

Nappa let out a hoot and a howl in agreement, grinning wildly. “Finally! Kakarot gets all the fun around here.”

Vegeta wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, and fighting back thoughts of her were now impossible, so the only option left was to _literally_ fight until all he could think of was the feel of his fist against steel skin and not his palms against soft, supple breasts--FUCK, he cried out in his head. If there was anything good in this world, she wasn’t going to sleep at all either, finding something to build to keep her mind off of him. This wasn’t one way, he thought, and he wouldn’t be the only to suffer.

 

\----------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Apologies that this chapter was late. I actually rewrote the entire thing. Still not sure, but I’m putting this up anyway!
> 
> Pimon is Japanese for bell pepper, and sticking with DB’s idea of random items being names, I thought, sure.
> 
> Bulma did smoke on Earth, but she stopped as had some baaad reactions to alien forms of tobacco. Maybe that will be a story later, who knows. I like writing about the hardships of being a human on an alien space station--everything is so different.
> 
> Vegeta getting a boner in front of Bulma and her not even realising it because she’s so wrapped up in her own head and worrying about her own arousal. Poor thing.
> 
> See you soon! <3


End file.
